


Night Crawler Epilogue 1

by Jessa



Series: Night Crawler [2]
Category: Finnrose, Reylo - Fandom, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, finnlo - Fandom, finnreylo - Fandom
Genre: Canonverse AU, F/M, Finnreylo, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force connections, Gen, Moderate language, Reylo - Freeform, Reylo fluff, SwoloFic, finnlo, finnrose - Freeform, knitting as code, kylo ren and ben solo are personas of the same person, soft dom!rey/sub!finn, very mild sexual references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-09 01:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17397707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessa/pseuds/Jessa
Summary: This story follows Finn, Rose, Rey and Ben over the course of a week or so, and soon after the end ofNight Crawler.The Resistance has 'acquired' the same model of interlock knitter currently used on the warship Ben's just returned to. This model of machine makes his cowls, and it's programmed by punch cards...





	1. The Interlock Knitter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenOfCarrotFlowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfCarrotFlowers/gifts).



> This is a prompt fill in response to a post by leoba in The Writing Den discord group. _Spies in the FO knit patterns with coded messages that get sent to the Resistance._
> 
> I changed it up a little so that the messages stay inside the FO, and instead get sent to Ben Solo, who's now posing as Kylo Ren (so technically he’s Resistance now...)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 4. Finn.

Finn swallows the water with difficulty. He swilled it too long that time, held it for too long in his mouth, and that only ever makes its flavour more noticeable. Never a good thing. It’s just that the back of his throat is so parched right now...

He reaches down again for the mangled metal canister at his feet and takes another quick series of sips to wash the noxious flavour away. Aside from this solution, more hydration certainly won’t hurt him. He’s already drunk his way through two of these this morning, and it’s still only mid-morning. Kashyyyk today is drier than a desert, for some reason.

When they first arrived, just over three weeks ago, Chewie assured them the groundwater in the Black Forest was safe to drink and not contaminated, like nearly everything else here, but the metallic note it leaves on Finn’s palate still makes his upper lip curl when he swallows it, kind of like the way Roonan lemons always used to.

Sometimes they’d eaten those, when he was still living on First Order ships and being fed slop, still only a month or so ago. That slop always had a side of Roonan lemon with it, and it was always that side that Finn looked forward to the most. That one wedge of Roonan lemon on the side of a plate of slop, and everyone always sucked on that one wedge hard, because that one wedge of Roonan lemon was just like dessert.

It always made Finn's lip curl, just like the water in the Black Forest on Kashyyyk, that one sliver of lemon, but it was still the cream of an otherwise entirely joyless experience.

The flavour of it was great; there was always so much flavour when he compared it to the taste of the slop. It was great to suck that tart flavour of the flesh of the fruit out first, taste the juice, which was sometimes sour but usually almost always sweet.

But the very best thing about that morsel of lemon was to bite down on the rind. To chew on something resistant for a minute, until the Captains called time on dinner. Finn liked to wolf down the slop and then spend as long as possible chewing the rind of it slowly, for the rest of dinnertime.

That was his favourite part about both dinnertime in the First Order, and Roonan lemons generally: getting to use his teeth. The way his teeth hankered for the bitter rind at the end of those meals always made him feel alive. It kept his mind sharp, and it kept his heart hopeful.

Finn takes another sip of water from the canister. His lip curls again, reminding him he’s still alive, mind sharp and heart hopeful, as he stands out here beneath Kashyyyk’s hot as hell sun watching Rose complete another deft series of turns with the Pilots head screwdriver.

She reaches out her hand to him now and he passes her the last of three fine, platinum screws, just before he sets the canister down on the jungle floor again, and listens in once more to the story she started telling, just before he started thinking about Roonan lemons.

“So,” she’s saying now, “Hays Major had this… I don’t know… Almost like a _dream_ aura about it... Pass me another one?”

Finn hands her the second to last platinum screw in his palm.

“Everyone on Hays Minor used to think about it that way,” she continues. “Like, Major was some kind of heaven, even though really… I mean _probably_ … everybody there was doing just exactly the same thing as what we all were on Minor. ”

“Surviving,” Finn murmurs, watching her complete the second to last repair on the interlock knitter.

“Yeah, exactly… Okay, ready for the last one now,” Rose prompts, and Finn hands it over, then reaches down again for the canister of water in the dirt.

“There was this rumour that went around about it, and it _so_ wasn’t true,” she chuckles, leaning in to work the flat head of the final screw flush against the remaining hinge on the spindle still missing just one. “This friend of Paige’s used to tell the story…”

Finn glances at Rose. She’s finished already - she’s _so_ fast, and it never fails to impress him - and now she’s gently working all the mechanisms she’s just fixed on the machine. Testing them one by one to make sure they all work well.

There’s a wistful expression on Rose's face. It’s always there when she mentions her sister. It still hasn’t been that long since it happened. Finn watches Rose carefully as just the faintest shadow of sorrow slips out of her, and veils her eyes, and her lower lip trembles for the briefest moment until as quickly as it emerged it’s gone. And then she’s back with him again.

“Anyway… A friend of Paige’s always used to say,” Rose recovers, then recalls, “That she knew someone who once did a project on Hays Major. Taught _stormtroopers_ there how to use these things… I mean, _really_ … Do _you_ think that's true?”

Finn swallows another mouthful and hands Rose the canister of water. Then he stares at the knitter thoughtfully.

“Well, maybe,” he supposes, ignoring his curling lip this time, and thinking about what she’s just said while she re-hydrates. “I mean, some of them already know. I don't obviously, I'm gonna need you to show me… But it might’ve been true… Anyway, as far as the machinery goes? What these things were doing out there? Well, you all used to mine the platinum in them, right? Kinda makes sense at least one of these would end up back there. Makes sense a whole _bunch_ would, actually.”

“So, like, you think they might’ve had a refinery? On Major?”

She passes back the canister and Finn sets it down in the dirt again, still thinking.

“Somewhere in the Otomok System, yeah. It would make perfect sense for the First Order to return things like this for re-purposing,” he says. “I mean, platinum’s a finite resource, right? But they still need it. They’re _still_ making these things. Because that’s why we’re doing this, isn't it? These things are still in use, Rose, remember”

“True,” she admits, stepping back from the repaired knitter. “Okay, Beebee-Ate, work some magic on that. Let’s test it out.”

The droid rolls forward.

“So, we’ve just gotta test the punch cards too, right?” Finn checks, as he and Rose watch the numerous spindles moving in sequence, now that BB-8s supplied it with a temporary power source, just for this test. “And then that’s it? The equipment’s all ready to box and load, and we’re ready to go, yeah?”

“That’s it,” Rose confirms. “I’ll show you what I know, what we got taught on Minor by Paige's friend. And then it’s up to you, honey. You and Rey and Chewie.”

The nerves in Finn’s stomach return, and the back of his throat goes dry. He reaches down for the mangled canister of water, sips again and swallows with difficulty. As Finn's lip curls, he starts to think again about the Roonan lemons.


	2. The Light Freighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 4. Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll preface this by saying that one of my wishes for epIX is that someone teaches Finn how to fly. One or two plot advances here too. Hope you enjoy!

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rey asks, growing more and more suspicious of Finn by the second.

She and Rose have just finished loading the supply crate containing the interlock knitter and punch cards onto the Ghtroc 720 light freighter. Rey’s just entered the cockpit to find Finn sitting in co-pilot position.

“Nothing,” Finn says, giving Rey a picture-perfect look of virtue from the chair. “I’m just waiting for you.”

“Get up, Finn,” she huffs, buying none of it. _“You’re_ doing this, not me. _And…”_

Rey points a very loaded forefinger at him, because he’s opening his mouth to protest, but she’s not prepared to waste any more time; they need to go.

“... _Don’t_ you sit there acting like you don’t remember us talking about this five minutes ago outside. There’s no way you could have forgotten since then, so don’t try to pretend you have. As I said before, once we’re out of the system, then we can swap back, but until then you need to _practise._ And you’re going to. So _move.”_

“Rey, come on,” Finn begins. “I need to practise talking about _knits_ and _purls_ and _colours_ right now, not _flying…”_

“It’s _not_ flying, Finn,” she admonishes. “And that part is easy anyway. You've had enough practise at that. It’s _taking off._ Pilots need to practise launches and lands, over and over again, I’ve told you this. In _all kinds of conditions,_ Finn. There are particular conditions today, that we haven’t practised in yet, and besides, it won’t take very long. You can still practise your thing about the... _pearls_ and the whatnot, just _after_ you’ve finished practising your launches.”

“But…”

“Finn, _move there now,”_ Rey orders, pointing emphatically at the pilot's chair. “Or we won't be going anywhere at all.”

“Oh, come on, Rey...”

“I’m not asking again.”

She folds her arms, cocks a hip and waits for Finn to change his mind. She knows he will.

“Alright, _fine,”_ he huffs after several moments, all of which he's spent standing off.

Finn shifts across into pilot position and Rey smiles over at him, as she settles down into co-pilot.

“You know, you really did do a good job last time,” she says, reaching across to give him an encouraging pat on the knee of the grey and red First Order coveralls he’s dressed in, because he’s still looking a little bit miffed, or nervous. One or the other. She can’t quite tell which.

“It was just that _one small check_ you missed, that's all," she continues. "That’s all you’re trying to fix up now. Just try to remember that one last check this time, I know you can do it. I believe in you, Finn, I really do...”

“Which one was it again?”

Rey gives him a withering look.

“I’m not going to _tell_ you. For galaxy’s sake, if I did, _you_ wouldn’t be practising.”

She watches him closely as he powers up the ship, but fails again to watch the condition instruments. Rey takes a very deep breath, and presses her lips together, hard.

Sometimes, she wonders if this was it, and it’s a thought she tends to push away very quickly whenever she has it. Stuff it right down beneath the worn inner-soles of her woolen boots. Is this why she used to be so alone?

On Jakku, she learnt to compartmentalise. The few possessions she called her own all had a place - a physical location, a _home,_ she supposes - and the few emotions she let herself have did too. And she never let them out, once they were in.

Sometimes, though, they tried to rear again once they were in, when she had thoughts about why she was alone. At those times, she always stuffed them down even further, as far away from her head as she could possibly make them go, and that was deep down in the rank-smelling depths of her boots.

She could always picture them there, and so there they’d go. She would picture them way down in those fetid extremities, far away, snugged beside her calloused feet. Curled down there, like tiny dianogas, and then she wouldn’t feel those feelings anymore.

Rey does that again now.

“You can do it, Finn,” she says quietly, feeling herself calming as the tone of her voice calms too, while imagining her impatience burying itself below her grime-covered toes.

“Think about it _carefully,”_ Rey murmurs. "And _talk_ to me, Finn… _Tell_ me what you’re doing, _talk_ it through... _”_

Rey sits on her hands so they won’t point to where she knows he needs to look. She keeps her mouth shut, and then she just starts to listen as slowly, growing in confidence, Finn starts to think it all through for himself.

“Okay,” he says, exhaling deeply. “It’s some kind of _check,_ right?”

Rey nods when he glances across at her.

“Okay,” he repeats. “I’ve done the _direction…_ I did do that, right?”

Rey nods again.

“Good. Alright… I know for sure I did the _horizon…_ And I definitely did the gyroscopic systems… And the radio and radar, I did those too, I remember doing those…”

Rey watches his hands move across each of the instruments he mentions, shadowing the maneuvers she did see him make earlier. And then…

“I did do the meteorological... I _didn’t_ do those… I didn’t do the _conditions..._ ”

Rey smiles. He got it.

Finn makes three visual checks, flicks a final switch on the console and then he looks across at Rey.

“Take us up,” she says happily, strapping herself in as Finn launches them.

She’s relaxing now they’re away, as she watches the Falcon’s blip ahead of them on radar; Chewie’s halfway there by now but that’s okay, they’ll catch him. As Finn evens out the freighter, the Mytaranor System begins to look like a series of luminous freckles on the arm of the night.

“And please, Finn, by all means, _do_ tell me some of this _amazing_ stuff you now know about  _pearls.”_

“Ah,” he says, grinning across at her again. “Actually, I still don’t know a damn thing about knitting.”

Rey snorts.

“Well, come on, Rey, I mean you didn't _really_ expect I was listening when Rose was explaining all that machine stuff, did you?” he asks, chuckling too as they swap seats.

Rey settles into pilot, programs co-ordinates, and the freighter jumps to hyperspace.

"Well, _yes,_ actually Finn, I kind of _did."_

“It’ll be _fine,”_ he brushes off. “I can wing it. I mean, if I can launch _this_ thing, I can do anything, right?”

Rey grimaces, as the gauges indicate they're nearing the end of the jump.

“Get ready,” she warns. “We’re nearly there...”

Her stomach flips at the sight that greets them. Finn hasn’t wasted a moment leaving the cockpit and Rey stalls the freighter on purpose before she leaves the cabin too, giving them both just long enough for this last part of the plan to get Finn, the knitter and the punch cards inside the warship, looming directly in front.

“Good luck, Finn,” Rey whispers, as the hiss of his pod escaping the freighter signals he’s gone, and so is the crate, both now en route to the First Order.

Rey slides inside the freighter’s last remaining pod. 

 _He’s on his way,_ Rey thinks through the bond to Ben as she makes the final escape, en route back to Chewie and the Falcon.  _You’re still…?_

 _Yes,_ Ben thinks back. _I’m still here._


	3. The Punch Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of 4. Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finn is a smooth operator. And then he gets kind of lucky...

He’s certainly experienced poorer vision. The visual processor enhanced some things, but never in these environments. On warships, when things ran as they should and all he was doing was guarding or inspecting, helmets just obscured his sight. So right now, Finn is grateful for the face mask, goggles and cap. They don't give him perfect vision, but it's still clearer than a stormtrooper's.

Poe helped figure out all that; one of his acquaintances had managed to smuggle, from a base on Yavin 4, several First Order garments including the coveralls. The coveralls helped Finn look the part and without muddling too much of what he could see, the head apparel masked enough of his face to get him inside the loading dock, and hopefully also all the way in to A Block.

Rey had assured him back on Kashyyyk that Ben would be around somewhere, to take care of anything that might go really wrong. Finn still had several doubts. He trusted Rey's judgement, and Rose had also vouched for Ben, but apart from catching him asleep with Rey at the edge of the Mysses Glade a few mornings ago, the last time Finn saw the man who killed Han Solo was on Starkiller. And after that, Finn had woken up in a bacta tank.

So, trusting someone largely through only secondary sources was one thing, as was trusting them from the safety of distance. But the difference between that, with almost only hearsay to found that trust on, in a context in which he’s already so nervous he can hear his heart pounding in his ears - deep in the bowels of a regime he fled not more than a handful of weeks ago, and certainly not discretely - and trusting a person firsthand? Because of the things they've done for you? Well, even in light of what happened at Tuanul, that was still the difference between night and day, how much he _could_ trust Ben. Wasn't it?

“Where are you taking this?”

Finn braces as the dispatch supervisor approaches. The soldier's modulated voice triggers Finn out of his reverie. He swallows with difficulty, thinking back to the canister of water still on Kashyyyk. His fingers twitch at his side.

“Manufacturing A,” Finn says, with as much confidence and neutrality as his voice can fabricate, given the state of his nerves, and his ever-drying throat.

“Open it,” the stormtrooper says to Finn.

Finn reaches down and enters the code on the keypad of the supply crate. With a hiss its seal releases, and the front vertical panel slides up, revealing the knitter.

“What is this?”

“It’s an Rs-Five Lack Interlock Knitting Machine, capable of up to thirty-two gauges and a minimum diameter of seventy-two millimeters. It can knit _and_ purl, and work with up to eighteen colours, although I understand that here...”

“And you’re taking that to A Block?”

“I am sir, yes.”

 _Damnit,_ Finn thinks to himself. _He’s not your superior, don’t call him that._

Finn’s nerves are beginning to affect him, and he can tell just from the way the soldier’s body is positioning now - feet squaring, shoulders straightening and the jaw of his helmet lowering just a fraction - that he’s growing doubtful. Finn’s had too much experience reading the body language of masked soldiers to deduce anything else but that now.

“You’ll need to unpack it. All deliveries to A Block need to be documented.”

“Oh, I have taken the liberty of doing that for you,” Finn says, his mind going so fast now through recovery options he’s hardly thinking at all, and most of this is instinct, although somehow he still manages to follow the key points of the script he hadn’t really practised with Rey on the freighter, just vaguely thought through, just before and after she made him practise launches again.

But maybe that’s because he doesn’t need to practise something like this. Smooth-talking. This sort of stuff, talking off the cuff, well, Finn’s beginning to realise he’s _good_ at it.

“You see, last time I was here,” Finn starts to spin, “I was fortunate enough to be given a copy of your delivery data file. It just saves time, and I’m sure you can appreciate that, sir. Is it okay if I call you that? I mean, you seem like you’re in charge around here. Are you a captain?”

“No.”

“Well, you should be. You have a very commanding presence, and I feel like I’m really dealing with somebody now who knows their job, and who does that job well. Plus, I know it must be just about nearly dinnertime for you, right? I bet you’d like to get there early. Last time I was here, I was delivering crates full of Roonan lemons. Now, _those_ are good lemons, I hope they serve _you_ people those, and don’t just save them for the people working all the way up the chain in A block...”

“Oh, we get those, too,” the stormtrooper says. “They're delicious.”

Finn slides the portable holopad from the belt around his waist. He swipes across the screen until the document appears, the one BB-8 hacked and Finn pre-filled with a bunch of utter rubbish back on Kashyyyk, before he and Rey left. Then he passes the device to the soldier.

“Roonan lemons, _wow,"_ Finn continues, as the soldier inspects the form. "They really are delicious. Oh, and everything’s there in that form. I think you’ll find it’s all in order, but go ahead and check it, I’m sure you want to. I mean, like I said, you seem to be a very thorough person. Oh, and the punch cards are just tucked in back. If you’d like me to, I can certainly show you those…”

“Take it through,” the soldier says, passing back the holopad, without even really looking at it, and with not even a glance at the punch cards, which aren’t in back at all. They’re in Finn’s pocket.

”Thank you very much, sir,” Finn says, returning the device to his belt. “I do appreciate your professionalism. Enjoy those lemons, won’t you?”

Still under the close watch of the stormtrooper, Finn unloads the knitter from the supply crate and wheels it, still on its dolly, all the way through to where he remembers the entrance to Manufacturing A is; it hasn't been that long since he left this model of warship.

“I’ll need to see some identification.”

Again Finn submits the holopad, this time to the stormtrooper stationed at the entrance to Textile Production A. From here, Finn can clearly see the line of knitters making Kylo Ren’s cowls. They’re the same machine model that Finn’s just brought in, and that’s a huge relief. The information Rey said Ben provided is checking out. So that leaves just one thing. Perhaps the most difficult. Swapping over the punch cards.

“This is all in order,” the stormtrooper says, handing back the device, and Finn tucks it away again in his belt. “You’re free to go.”

“Oh, if you don’t mind,” Finn says quickly, “I’d just like to run some tests on the ones you currently have in operation.”

The stormtrooper pulls out her own holopad, swipes at it several times and then looks Finn up and down.

“There’s no record of a booked service, just a delivery,” she says _._ “And, as I’m sure you can see, these machines are all in perfect working order. Plus, thanks to you, we now have a working spare. So if you could just leave by the same way you came in, we appreciate your work but we’ll no longer be needing your services today.”

 _Shit,_ Finn thinks to himself.

In the event he couldn’t get close enough to the knitters to swap all the punch cards, in the event he’d need to create a diversion, Finn had thought he’d just very discretely kick the shit out of one of them. Rose had shown him how - where to aim, and how hard - to make the inner axle come off its spindle and cause the whole machine to shut down. But he’s not nearly close enough to create that kind of distraction.

“Oh it’s just…”

“I said _no,”_ the stormtrooper cuts. “Now, I have asked you very politely to _leave,_ sir. And that’s what I expect you to do. And I’m sure that you can understand why, because we are probably both working for very busy organisations, with lots to get through in a day. But if we can’t see eye to eye, then perhaps I can find a way to be... _more_ convincing.”

The stormtrooper shifts a hand to the blaster at her hip. Finn opens his mouth, not even sure of what he expects he’ll hear himself say now, but as he inhales a breath to say it with, one of the knitters fails. Both Finn and the stormtrooper notice it. The sound in the room changes, and they both look towards the line. The soldier turns back to inspect Finn, cocking her helmeted head at him for what he prays to the Maker is the final time, and at last turns her back and walks across the space to inspect it.

With no idea what’s happened to it, nor how in the hell to fix it - Rose had only shown Finn how to break them - he shadows the stormtrooper as she crosses the floor, and once she’s occupied by the jammed spindles, Finn replaces the punch card on the only knitter within reach.

 _One,_ Finn thinks to himself, _Is better than none_ _._

And just as his arm returns to his side, just as swiftly as he made the switch, the stalled machine starts up again, and the stormtrooper turns back towards Finn.

“You’ve been asked to leave…”

But Finn is already halfway back to the loading dock by now, counting his blessings, and still scratching his head.


	4. The Supreme Leader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4 of 4. Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of reylo fluff to wrap up with. Hope you enjoy the final chapter. 
> 
> OMG the cowl...! I forgot how sketchy that garment is... what the heck is it?? XD
> 
> Anyway, it's been a lot of fun to think about and write this short fic, and interesting to try and fit it in with future stuff happening already in [The Smuggler's Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16362491/chapters/38295410). 
> 
> Thanks for the prompt leoba! :)

He only needs so many cowls, so they don’t make them very often. The machines sit idle for most of the time.

Ben shuts off the ‘fresher.

Later that day, after production had finished, he considered going back to A Block. Not to the viewing platform though, to surveil in isolation from behind the transparisteel window.

Instead, the Supreme Leader had thought about standing down there on the floor of Textile Production A, in front of the knitter he stalled, and immersing himself in the smell of the grease that oiled its axles, and the metallic scent of its spindles, remembering how they'd looked in motion, hooking and looping the black waffle cotton that made the squares of his zeyd cloth garment.

Ben pads barefoot to his closet.

He didn’t go back that day. For the rest of it, Ben just stayed here in his chambers, thinking about it. And, a little after that, he washed and ate, went to bed and fell asleep, because that was the thing about sensing.

It gleaned things about places, without the need to actually be in them. And it told him things about people, without the need to actually interact with them. Often without the need to be anywhere near them, really, both places _and_ people; the Force was weird like that. It was hard to explain.

Ben knew without being down there what it smelt like on the floor of A Block, and he knew what it sounded like, too. And without even hardly trying, Ben had followed most of the words and the thoughts they'd had down there from the safety of distance - high up in the silent confines of the viewing platform - from where he could just watch.

Because that’s why he’d gone to A Block that day. He could have helped out from his chambers, achieved the same end. But her friend had been of interest to Ben for some time, still was, and on that day he’d just wanted to watch that man again.

And sometimes he wonders if _that_ was it. If _that_ was why he always used to be so alone, and still is, most of the time. Does he keep _too much_ distance? Does he sense _too much?_ And not spend enough time...

_I was wondering that too, then._

Ben smiles at the sound of Rey’s voice inside his head.

_I didn’t think we were doing this anymore? I thought you said…_

_Just quickly,_ she thinks back. _Like last week… I’m alone, now, for a minute or two. It’s okay now. If it is with you?_

Ben reaches inside his closet and pulls out a pair of trousers.

 _Were you really wondering that?_ he asks through the bond. _About sensing? Or, were you wondering about keeping distance? Keeping too much distance?_

_Both._

Ben can’t see her, just hear her voice. The connection isn’t strong. Most of her mind must be elsewhere, wherever she is, occupied mostly by whatever it is she’s actually doing now.

_Rey?_

_Yes?_

_I never really met people, until I met you. Properly. Talked to them. You know?_

_I know,_ Rey thinks back. _I didn’t really meet that many of them either, Ben. Properly. I talked to them, but… I don’t know. Mostly I kept to myself, too. It was just easier that way. For a lot of reasons, I guess._

Ben looks down at the trousers, slung across his forearm. He’s still semi-lost in his thoughts.

_Ben?_

_Yeah?_

_Are you going to put those pants… you know, on? Or just stand there naked, holding them forever? And, by the way, I wouldn't mind that._

Ben turns to search the room.

_I can’t see you. How the fuck can you…?_

_I’ve always been better at this than you, Ben._

He stops turning, stops searching the room for her, knowing she's right, and instead he frowns down at the trousers.

 _Sometimes, I wish there were more than just, like, two words for these things,_ he thinks, as he starts to pull on the trousers.

 _For what things?_ she thinks back.

_For trousers._

_There_ _are_ _more than two words for pants, Ben. You spend far too much time alone, thinking about things like this, do you know that? It worries me. A lot._

“I’m not alone, you’re here,” he murmurs, fastening the band of the trousers around his waist.

 _I’m not really_ , _Ben,_ she thinks back. _Only sort of..._

“I wish you were, though,” he says, quietly. "Really here."

_Well, I can’t be, and you know that, and I don’t have much time now, so..._

“You’re moving?”

_Tomorrow._

“You’ve been saying that for over a week, Rey…”

_Ben?_

“Yeah?”

_Did you find it yet?_

“Find what?”

_Keep dressing, Ben._

He reaches for his sleeved garment.

“I thought you liked me half-dressed," he teases.

_I do like you half-dressed. I like you less-than-half-dressed, too. I just… I made you something. And I want you to find it. And I want you to hurry the fuck up about it, Ben, because..._

“You _made_ me something?”

_Yes._

“What is it?”

_It’s a surprise. Keep dressing._

He fastens his vest.

“Okay, I'm dressed. Should I have found it by now?”

 _No,_ Rey thinks. _You're not completely..._ _Hang on... Wait..._

“Wait for what?”

Ben fastens his belt and pulls on his boots. His eyes find his cowls, freshly-made and still hanging in the closet. He hasn’t yet worn any of these. He doesn't wear them much anymore.

"Rey?" Ben whispers.

Are _these_ what she meant? He's not _completely_ _dressed_  without these?  

 _"Rey?"_ he whispers again, but she's gone.

Ben reaches out for the cluster of new shrouds. He lets his fingers explore them, first brushing the edges of each garment lightly, then allowing himself to be pulled in to just one. He pulls that one from the closet, and shrugs it on.

Ben closes his eyes as his hand slips beneath the weave, to a place just above his heart, where a moment ago the fabric met the firm muscle of his vest-clad chest, on the left-hand side. Very slowly, Ben runs his palm down his upper body, between the cowl and vest, and as he does something odd brushes against his skin, catching faintly at his knuckles, but hardly at all, and mostly now Ben is just sensing something there, on the inside of the cowl. Something seemingly tiny. 

He opens his eyes, looks down at the garment and shifts his fingers, so that now his thumb is rubbing against the inside of the newly-knitted fabric, rubbing against the place where the back of his hand just slid. Ben turns the edge of the cloth, and frowns down at the purled, stylized heart, raised against the knitted reverse side of the cloth.

It’s right there by his own heart. A tiny little knotted symbol. From her. Ben traces the shape with his forefinger, and stares. And as he does, as he studies the machine's rudimentary, almost clumsy interpretation of a symbol he's certain he's never cared for until now, so close his nose could touch it, and he can smell A Block again, Ben notices something else. 

He yanks the fabric back, now, almost ripping the neck of the garment to get the purchase he needs to see the runes. Right there. Two lines of Ancient Aurebesh, purled into the knit, beyond the oafish heart.

"Holy _shit...,"_  Ben breathes, as he reads the whole of the Rebellion's coded message.

A set of coordinates. And a date. And the date is one year from today.


End file.
